THE LUNAR REPORT - "PLEASE COME BACK" August 2, 2010

That dear old woman had a pretty strong grip that evening. It took me a while to pry apart the small knotty fingers of her arthritic hands at the Twin Lakes’ Assisted Living dinner table and slip away to return to my busy young-adult life outside that place. Even as she said to me what she had said to me hundreds of times over the years, “Please don’t go,” I left anyway. I can still see her old and sad eyes. I can still feel her grip. It was the last time I saw Nanny alive. That was about 26 years ago. Nanny is my grandmother.

A few months ago my son and his oldest son paid me a visit. My grandson was almost three at the time. There were a few other adults with us. The adults stood around talking sports, education, work and the like. I found myself chasing my grandchild, catching him, as he expected me to do, time and time again. The result was always the same. I’d catch him. He’d laugh a hardy laugh. Say, “Put me down, PawPaw.” I would. Then it was off to the races again.

But his smile. And his face. And his big brown eyes engaging mine in such a sweet and intense and innocent manner. Being with that child, just like it was with his Dad so many years ago, puts me in a place that is so safe and sweet and real. His younger brother affects me the very same way. So does his older sister.

But. I am such an idiot. A couple of weeks after their visit, I spent the day with my son and his entire family a couple of hours away. On their home turf. It was a wonderful day. In almost every respect.

But. I blew it. Again. I turned my back on that safe and sweet and real place. There were no old and weak hands trying to hold me in place this time. But there was something.

The first part of the day, I spent in the back seat of my son’s car. Sitting in between my two grandsons as my son drove his family and me to Charlotte for a basketball game. The youngest grandson, Seth, pretty much occupied himself, watching a video as we rode. Occasionally, I would rub his head or leg or tickle his knee to get that incredible Seth smile going. But the older grandson, Sy, received most of my attention that day. He pretty much demanded it.

We talked. We laughed and played. He removed his shoes and socks, threw them on the floor board and laughed as I looked puzzled as to why he would do such a thing. Shortly after that, Seth removed his shoes, threw them and laughed as well.

At the game, Sy watched mostly from my lap. I enjoyed the game. I enjoyed being with that family. But my day was made by that grandson.

After the game and after dinner out, we returned to my son’s home. Shortly after arriving there, I said my goodbyes. I had to return to my home to continue my middle-aged-adult life. I kissed and hugged all the others in that home. Then I bent down, hugged and kissed the smiling and happy Sy who was standing in the middle of the hallway. “Good bye, Pal. I love you,” I said. As I stood up, I saw Sy just standing there, silent, with a look of disappointed I hadn’t seen since the last time I left Nanny. No hands this time. No grips. But the look in that young guy’s eyes and face were so much stronger than Nanny’s arthritic hold.

“Please don’t go,” is what he told me that night. In his way. The only way he could.

What did I do next? I did to my grandson exactly what I did to my grandmother. I broke away, convinced myself I was doing what I had to do – what was best. And I drove the two-and-a-half hours home, justifying my swift departure at every mile marker. The problem was, no justification, real or imagined, could erase the vision of that little guy standing in that hallway. Occasionally, I would lose that vision. Each time it was replaced with the look in Nanny’s eyes as she lost her grip on my hand that evening at Twin Lakes.

The sound of “Please don’t go” was replaced with, “Please come back.” I can’t come back to Nanny. But I will be back to see Sy.

Today is young Sy’s third birthday. I will see him today. I will spend most every moment right by that guy’s side. And I don’t care how long it takes. I will stay with that youngin' until he looks me squarely in the eyes and says, “Ok, you can leave now, Paw Paw.”

And at some point in the years to come, when you, Sy, just don’t have time to hang around while your senile old granddad eats his fruit cocktail and drinks his Ensure, leave when you need to. Do what you have to do. It will be okay.

Nothing you will ever do will cause me to love you less than I always have.